


Fetch Me The Moon, Will You?

by onbrokenfeet



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Magic, Witch!Laura, princess!carmilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbrokenfeet/pseuds/onbrokenfeet
Summary: Carmilla has nothing. Her mother has everything, including Carmilla's freedom in her hands. When Carmilla is intended to be married, she wishes on a star for a new life. As the old saying goes: Be careful what you wish for.[Prompt on Tumblr where Carmilla is a princess being forced to be married and accidentally summons a witch named Laura who is much more than she bargained for. Third Person POV.]





	Fetch Me The Moon, Will You?

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted by still-cookiedough on tumblr to write about Carmilla summoning a witch named Laura to save her from an engagement, and the dreadful dress she's intended to wear. This is what I came up with! Want to prompt me? Challenge me on tumblr - mymindwandersonbrokenfeet 
> 
> Enjoy! Kudos and comments appreciated.

Carmilla has nothing.   
  
Sure, she has people awaiting her every word and command, and anything she could want in the world is brought to her. She’s taken care of in every way. Still, it’s so boring. It’s all just pressure and noise. It’s waking up everyday at sunrise to practice the manners of every nation. It’s lunches with kings who want her to marry their children. It’s hours and hours of classes on things that only matter because she was born in a castle full of liars.   
  
On this dreary evening she’s finally having dinner with just her mother, Queen Lilita. Her mother is poised and overtly elegant. She moves as little as possible, as if she’s slowly turning to stone. Carmilla is slouched over a bowl of soup that she’s absolutely shoveling into her mouth because she missed breakfast.   
  
“Do you need additional etiquette classes?” Queen Lilita asks without looking away from her tea.   
  
“I need additional time to eat,” Carmilla replies. Still, she sits up, back straight, elbows off the table.   
  
“You’ll have plenty of time for whatever unnecessary things you desire once you’re married.”   
  
“What if I don’t want to be married?” Carmilla asks. Her eyes flicker over to her mother, who nearly drops her teacup.   
  
“That would be deeply unfortunate, considering I promised your hand to Princess Elizabeth of Lustig this afternoon.”   
  
“You what?” Carmilla’s hands slam against the table.   
  
“You will be married in the spring. We’ll have to look at a decent gown for you.”   
  
“Okay. First, I am not marrying anyone. Second, even if I did marry someone, it would not be that pompous little worm. Third, I do not wear gowns.”   
  
Queen Lilita takes a long sip from her tea, sits it on the table quietly, and gathers a venomous smile.   
  
 I know you have these urges to rebel, all part of your youth I assume. Unfortunately, you have no choice in this matter. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow to talk with the wedding planner about your gown, which you absolutely will be wearing. I also expect that you’ll spend the rest of your evening thinking about the good this will do for our kingdom, beginning now.”   
  
“I haven’t even eaten dinner yet!”   
  
“I’m sorry, little duck. I’ve made up my mind, now you must learn to change yours. Power is funny that way.”   
  
The princess stands, kicking the chair she was sitting in over. She lifts the bowl of almost finished soup and sends it flying into the wall. Lilita doesn’t stir, in fact, she doesn’t even blink. She just lifts her tea back to her lips. Carmilla wants to scream, to tear her apart. Instead, she just shakes and leaves the room, grumbling about what a hypocrite her mother is.   
  
xxx  
  
Carmilla’s room is a cozy little space.   
  
She chose the room at the top of the west tower, though she could have had any room she wanted. The room is just big enough to hold her bed, a dresser, and a hammock by the window made from a tapestry she’d ruined when she was small. She’s laying in her hammock, staring out at the night sky. The stone around the opening in the wall shines, slick with moonlight.   
  
She traces constellations with her eyes and remembers how very small she is. She remembers how her life has never been her own, even now. She’s to be married, in a gown of all things. She looks down at her usual regal attire. A finely tailored suit, one of many just like it. Silver, gray, and black work together to give those that look upon her the idea that she’s much more important than she really is.   
  
She looks back to the sky, to the dust far away that guides sailors home. She looks to the moon that looks as though it’s contemplating all that’s ever been. She groans, still angry, still so very sad, still so very small. She sees a star shoot across the sky, but she doesn’t smile the way she used to.   
  
“I wish someone would give me a better life,” she says to the star as it fades away.   
  
She lays back and sighs, lulling herself to sleep with dreams of who she’d be, if she could be anyone else at all.   
  
xxx  
  
_Clunk._  
_Crash._  
_Crash._  
  
Carmilla wakes with a start, jumping up in her hammock and nearly falling. She’s groggy when she hears something absolutely destroying her room. Or, well, someone. She scans her room to find a woman in a raggedy white dress. She’s whispering to a broom and petting it gently.   
  
“Who the fuck are you?!” Carmilla shouts. She rolls out of her hammock and takes a defensive stance.   
  
“Huh?” The woman in the dress turns to face her, dropping the broom, which springs into the next wall before hitting the floor.   
  
“Let’s try this again, who the fuck are you? And what the fuck was that?”   
  
“Oh! You must be, let’s see here,” the woman pauses, pulling a parchment from her satchel. She unrolls it and squints at it. “Princess Carmilla. Pretty name!”   
  
“Thanks? Look, if I have to call the guards, you are going to have a severely upsetting evening.”   
  
“No, no! I’m Laura. You kind of asked me to be here. Don’t worry, everyone has that reaction, though not always with such rude language.”   
  
“I asked you to be here?”   
  
“You wished on a star, right?”   
  
“Yeah, but that doesn’t actually do anything.”   
  
“It does if you want the wish bad enough! I’m a lunar witch. I’m here to grant your wish, if I can. Which I should be able to, I think.”   
  
“You’re a witch,” Carmilla says with a flat expression. She tries to make it clear with her eyes that she doesn’t believe her. Though, the animated broom does cause some suspicion.   
  
“Yep! Born under the full moon, I am honor-bound to the shooting stars and those that wish upon them.”   
  
“Right,” Carmilla says. “So then I guess you can give me a different life.”   
  
“A different life?” Laura asks. She looks around the room with wide eyes. “Are you a prisoner here? ‘Cause that’s easy, we can just leave on my broom. Uh, if it ever decides to behave.”   
  
Carmilla looks to the broom which shakes in protest. Carmilla looks back to Laura, who’s smiling entirely too wide. “No,” Carmilla says. “This is my home. I’m the princess.”   
  
“You know usually, I hear that when princesses have wishes it’s for them to get saved by princes. So, I’m sorry for assuming.”   
  
“I need to get saved from a princess, actually,” Carmilla explains.   
  
“Okay,” Laura says. “What do you want to do?”   
  
“Can you just curse her? Maybe a deadly curse or something that makes her suffer, preferably.”   
  
“Uh, no. I don’t do that. I can turn her into a butterfly? I don’t think she can hurt anyone as a butterfly.”   
  
Carmilla is positively dumbfounded. A witch is supposed to curse people. A witch is supposed to be dreaded and disgusting and covered in warts. Yet here’s this young woman, hair like the sun, a smile like a dreamer, lost in a world somewhere far from here.   
  
“I want a different life. Not a butterfly. Can’t you just make me like, a baker somewhere in town or something?”   
  
Laura’s head cocks to the side and her eyebrows bunch together. She thinks for a long moment, and then another. She opens her mouth once, twice, then shuts it.   
  
“Don’t you want to be a princess?”   
  
“Trust me, it’s no where near as fun as it sounds.”   
  
“Well, switching lives, that’s advanced magic. I don’t even know anyone even close to being able to do that. I don’t even know if there are spells for that! Are you sure you don’t just want the butterfly?”   
  
Carmilla groans and her eyes roll. She flops back into her hammock, sinking into it. She folds her arms and rolls back her head, letting the moonlight dance on her pale skin.   
  
“I guess if she gets turned into a butterfly, I don’t have to marry her. But if not her, then someone else.”   
  
Carmilla doesn’t see it, but Laura frowns. She takes small steps toward Carmilla, timid little steps. Laura stands in front of her, low-cut, flowing dress that seems to sway without any breeze.   
  
“Can I sit with you?” Laura asks.   
  
Carmilla eyes her with a raised brow. She thinks on the legends of witches. How evil and conniving they are. She thinks of their tricks and the stories in which they eat children. She thinks and she wishes she’d gotten one of them instead of this butterfly machine.   
  
“Sure,” Carmilla finally says. Laura smiles and nods. She tries to ease herself into the hammock, but falls in a clumsy mess of limbs. She flattens her dress against her thighs and laughs nervously.   
  
“Who are you supposed to marry?” Laura asks.   
  
“Princess Elizabeth, the most vile snake this side of the sea,” Carmilla says.   
  
“She sounds uh-” Laura pauses, looking for the right word. “Awful.”   
  
Carmilla laughs. “So you see my problem.”   
  
“Yeah,” Laura says with a nod. “I get the feeling that you don’t have a choice in the matter.”   
  
“I don’t.”   
  
“I could polymorph all the bad princesses, and then you’d have your choice of a good princess.”   
  
“Even then, I don’t get a choice. You’d have to get rid of all of them, and then some.”  
  
“Okay. Well, getting rid of all the princesses is a little beyond my power level,” Laura admits. “Let’s see.” Laura reaches into her satchel, pulling out a book twice the size of the bag. She flicks through pages much older than either of the two women. “I don’t think we want a massive plague,” Laura says.   
  
“You don’t,” Carmilla corrects.   
  
“No one does,” Laura corrects her right back. “You’ve said no to the butterflies, I’ve said no to the entire section of curses, which leaves us with-” Laura pauses. She flips to the end of the book and slams her finger down. “Oh. I guess the only option left is a spell that turns soup into stew.”   
  
“What a wonderful witch you are,” Carmilla replies dryly.   
  
“I’m kind of still learning,” Laura admits with a blush on her cheeks.   
  
“You don’t say.”   
  
“Look. You’re not the only one with no say in who they are, okay? I’m trying to help here.”   
  
“Wait, you didn’t choose to be a witch?”   
  
“No. I was born into a coven, but we got separated after a fire. I’m kind of just working off of this beginner’s guide.”   
  
Carmilla looks to Laura, who is wearing a faint frown. She seems to be remembering something long past. Laura notices and perks up a faux smile.   
  
“But I have a job to do,” Laura says. “And I’m going to do it the best I can. I’ve helped a few people already. I’m sure I can find a way to help you, too.”   
  
Carmilla scoots up, leaning her back against the wall. She looks out to the sky, and she remembers things too. It’s her turn to wear a frown. A frown that remembers her responsibilities and the gown she’ll have to wear. A frown that remembers how small she is against the vastness of the sky.   
  
“I’ve always wanted a piece of the night sky,” Carmilla says. “If you can’t get me out of this wedding, will you fetch me the moon?”   
  
Laura turns her head, looking out to the same sky. She squints, as if she’s guessing how long it will take her to get to the moon and back. She snaps her fingers and turns back to her satchel. She opens it and seems to rifle through nothing. She pulls out a jar and smiles.   
  
“We all get these,” Laura says. “When we begin to learn witchcraft. It’s a jar of stardust. It’s the last thing I grabbed from home.”   
  
Carmilla eyes the jar. It’s full of what looks like ordinary dust, until Laura holds it up to the light. It shines as bright as all the stars that have ever been. Carmilla wonders what kind of magic holds it, and where it came from. She drags a finger across the glass, and for once in her life, she feels rather large. The stars that looked down on her have been bottled and now she can hold them in her hands.   
  
“You want it?” Laura asks.   
  
“It’s the last thing from your home,” Carmilla says.   
  
“I have my book and my memories,” Laura says. “You need a jar full of wishes more than I do.”   
  
Carmilla looks to that soft smile. The gentleness of a person who uses the greatest force in the world to make butterflies and help people. Carmilla kisses Laura on the forehead, gentle and quick. She takes the jar and holds it in her hands.   
  
“Thank you,” Carmilla says. “For indulging a nostalgic idiot for a while.”   
  
“There’s no need to thank me,” Laura says. “Not until we get your problem fixed.”   
  
The broom in the corner shakes again, this time not in protest, but as if it has a suggestion.   
  
“Are you still looking?” Carmilla asks.   
  
“For what?”   
  
“Your coven,” Carmilla says.   
  
“Every night,” Laura replies. “I keep hoping that we’ll show up to grant the same wish, but, no luck so far.”   
  
“How about you help me, and I help you?”   
  
“Help me how?”   
  
“I’ll help you find your coven, if you let me leave with you.”   
  
Laura looks awestruck. There’s still a dusting of pink on her cheeks from the kiss. She scratches her head before speaking, “I have to warn you, I sleep in the woods, a lot.”   
  
“I can get used to it,” Carmilla says.   
  
“And I fly, everywhere,” Laura says. “And I do not always have soft landings.”   
  
“I’ve noticed. And I’ve always wanted to fly.”   
  
“And I-”   
  
“Laura,” Carmilla says, resting a hand on Laura’s thigh. “I’m coming with you.”   
  
“Even if I just conjure butterflies?”   
  
“I would rather see nothing but butterflies for the rest of my life than be here for even a minute more,” Carmilla says.   
  
“Okay,” Laura says. “If it’ll help you,” Laura spits out.   
  
“You’re allowed to say you want me to come,” Carmilla says.   
  
“It’s not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just that you’re a princess, and I don’t know how to accommodate for a princess. I also don’t know anything about you. I’m also pretty sure you don’t like me.”   
  
Carmilla chuckles. “I didn’t like you,” she says and Laura frowns. “But of all the things people have brought me in my life, I’ve never been happy until an annoying little witch brought me a jar full of wishes.”   
  
“Well,” Laura says, words stuck in her throat. Her dusting of pink has turned into a bright shade of red. Carmilla is smirking, making it all the worse. “Of all the people who I’ve granted wishes for, no one has ever offered to help me.”   
  
“Yeah? All two of them, and no one offered to help?”   
  
Laura groans and Carmilla chuckles. “Don’t make me second guess letting you come with me,” Laura says.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Carmilla says, almost not even a lie. “Should we get going?”   
  
“Hm,” Laura thinks. She knows the sun will steal away the night soon. She knows that after this cozy little place, it’ll all be hiding a princess, and abandoned little shacks. She knows that she’s warm, with Carmilla’s hand still resting on her thigh. She knows that she’s comfortable for the first time since the fire.   
  
“Can we stay just a little longer?” Laura asks. “You’re my only wish for the night, and it took a while to get here,” Laura yawns. “So it might be nice to rest.”   
  
“Sure,” Carmilla says with a nod. Laura leans over, resting her head on Carmilla’s shoulder. She nuzzles her cheek against her suit jacket. Carmilla allows it, letting her hand stay right where it was to start with.   
  
Laura wonders in her final moments before dozing off, if Carmilla will like the world outside the castle. She dreams with soft little snores, of her coven, and telling them of all the good work she’s done. She dreams of teaching Carmilla magic, and all the horrible things she’d do with it. She stirs when she’s called for in a soft whisper. She jumps awake when she hears a pounding on the door. She scrambles to put all her things in her satchel, with the few things Carmilla wants to take.   
  
They make their escape, just after day break, out the same window Laura crashed through. Carmilla doesn’t look back, or even question her decision. Okay, maybe she questions it when the broom tries to throw her for the third time. Laura keeps her eyes forward, doing incredibly stupid stunts to get Carmilla sitting up again. Laura keeps looking toward the sun in the distance, and wonders if she’ll find her coven.   
  
Primarily though she wonders, if Carmilla only cares for stars. Though maybe, there’s a chance, she can care for annoying little witches who bring her jars of wishes.  
  
Carmilla wonders nothing, she only smiles. She’s free from gowns and classes. She’s free from the manners of all the nations. She’s free from classes and counsels. She’s free from her mother, and the promises she makes for a hand that isn’t hers. She’s free from a castle full of liars. She’s free to wrap her arms around an annoying little witch and watch the sun rise.   
  
Carmilla has everything.


End file.
